


The Moral of the Story

by Lillian



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-30
Updated: 2010-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:44:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillian/pseuds/Lillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwen knows women are not supposed to want. They are supposed to be beautiful and delicate and wanted, they are the ones who ought to make men chase after them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Moral of the Story

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and I'm making no money of their use.

Sometimes, during the summer, Gwen has a settee brought out into the wide terrace adjoining the solar. She spends whole days there, embroidering or reading or even simply looking at the roads and fields, at the distant lines of the horizon.

Most of the people who know of this habit think she's watching for banners in the distance, her husband returning victorious after the latest war.

The truth is, Gwen just likes the open air and Arthur tends to lead his campaigns in the warmer months, nothing more.

It's one more example that things are rarely what they seem.

~ ~ ~

Gwen has not felt fear for years.

There's no reason - Arthur is feared and respected where he is not loved and Lancelot would die for her without a thought. Merlin is as powerful as a god and more likely than one to help her, should she need him.

As long as coming to her aid wouldn't harm Arthur, of course. Then he wouldn't lift a finger and feel no more remorse over it than he would for crushing a bug.

The last time Gwen's been afraid of anything was on the morning after her wedding night.

She'd woken up on a downy mattress in Arthur's arms, and fancied she could still feel the gold band of her crown on her forehead. She'd thought I am a queen, Gwen, the blacksmith's daughter, is the Queen of Camelot. She'd thought I couldn't rise any higher than this. She could see the years stretching before her, years she would live wrapped in luxury and deference and Arthur's love, and her heart tightened in her chest, suddenly, inexplicably.

The only thing she had to look forward to was boredom.

~ ~ ~

The older Gwen gets the more she is convinced of how stupid people are.

The courtiers see her dance with Lancelot, gift him with a ribbon or a flower before a tournament, and decide they are lovers. They see her kiss Arthur goodbye on the steps, tears in her eyes, and conclude she is sad to be parted from him.

Touching tears produced with a few drops of dwale tincture in each eye a few minutes before. They make her eyes shine, big and doe-like, vulnerable. Arthur loves vulnerable, and Gwen is nothing if not an obedient wife.

To bards, she's the greatest treasure of Camelot, a woman torn between two worthy men, a whore, a victim of rumour, a silly beautiful shell.

It doesn't occur to them that Arthur doesn't suspect her not because he is too trusting, or because she is truly virtuous, but because she is too clever to be caught.

No one, save the recipient of her favours, knows where her gaze is truly drawn. The secrecy is a pleasure all on its own.

~ ~ ~

Gwen knows women are not supposed to want. They are supposed to be beautiful and delicate and wanted, they are the ones who ought to make men chase after them.

They shouldn't get flustered and tongue-tied when talking with a boy, their mouths shouldn't water with desire and their hands shouldn't tremble at the thought of copping a feel of a male body under the guise of teaching him the proper place for every piece of armour.

Nowadays Gwen doesn't stutter when talking to a man, at least not unintentionally, but the desire is still there, if better hidden. She wants men in general, she wants the pleasure they can bring her, she wants their attention - food to her vanity. She's long since stopped feeling guilt for not being in love with her husband, and she's never actually felt any particular inclination to be faithful to him.

She wants men in general, she wants Merlin in particular, and it bothers her that this need doesn't abate no matter how many times she's had him.

~ ~ ~

The first time Gwen had kissed Merlin he'd looked like a corpse, though his skin had been feverish against her palms. It had been short, shallow and delicious, and if Gwen had known how long she'd have to wait for a second taste she'd have taken more time to enjoy it, Gaius be damned.

The second time Gwen had kissed Merlin she'd been foolish, fed up with Arthur's kisses to her hand throughout the evening and Lancelot's pleading eyes across the room.

Merlin had been sitting in front of his fireplace when she entered, his face turned to her friendly and open in the brief moment before she'd turned to bar the door to his chamber. Then she'd been upon him, his head tipping back easily in her hands under the demand of her mouth, just like the last time.

Merlin had made a low noise of protest, jerked his head away.

"No," he'd shouted, outraged and offended, in that pointed emphatic way one talked to little children and dogs, to creatures that couldn't understand reasoning and had to be taught right and wrong in the most basic terms.

Gwen had let go off him, drawn back a little, and the tension in Merlin's shoulders had eased marginally, probably thinking she'd come to her senses.

"I'll sleep with Lancelot," Gwen had said then, with the precision of a sword hitting flesh, delivering a killing blow. "And tell Arthur about it. Or better yet, I'll make sure he sees."

Merlin had frozen, staring at her with dark, shocked eyes. Gwen had never seen anyone catch him so off-guard.

"He loves me, more than anything," she'd continued. "He'll be crushed. I'll bear Lancelot a child. I'll wait till after the birth to - "

Merlin's fingers shot to her forearm, held her in a vice-like grip. "Shut up." Merlin whispered, soft and dangerous. "Just shut up."

He'd kissed her the third time and Gwen'd slid to her knees in front of his chair.

I'll grant you anything, wouldn't keep anything from you, couldn't refuse you anything - these are the pretty courtly ways of offering a lover your mouth. Other unusual acts too, but mostly the mouth.

Gwen hadn't known that when she'd spoken those words to Merlin after he'd come to her to ask for a sword.

She knew when she reached for the laces on Merlin's breeches, kneeling before him, wetting her lips in anticipation.

It wasn't any less true than it had been years ago.

~ ~ ~

"You won't tell him."

"Not as long as there is something to tell."

~ ~ ~

Their affair is a lot like what Gwen imagines having a fairy lover would be - much welcomed lack of sleep, hours spent together for them equalling a second for everyone else, the body in her bed disappearing unnoticed before first light.

Tangled sheets in the morning make Gwen's maid feels guilty that nightmares are keeping her mistress awake while she's never slept so soundly in her life.

Gwen finds the knowledge that Merlin still puts Arthur first, that keeping Arthur happy and unaware is much (all) of what makes Merlin try to please her, is both honey and bile on her tongue.

Then she finds a lilac stem on her pillow, the thoughtfulness of the gesture taking her breath away, and she wonders.

Perhaps Arthur is only an excuse, after all.

~ ~ ~

When Merlin fucks her he always lasts a long time. Gwen doesn't want to know whether he's considerate, whether it's his own preference, or if he doesn't feel that much lust for her.

She loves it. She relishes every second of it - the feel of Merlin inside her, the sight of him; every thin, sinewy muscle straining, the ends of his hair curling with dampness, lips parted, panting, tempting her.

Gwen watches him, at first, and when she can't help herself she starts taking what she wants. She presses her mouth to his, drinks from his lips until she almost, but not quite, has her fill. She nips at the inside of his arm, slides her hands down his back, pulls on his buttocks to make him move faster.

Merlin's rhythm stutters and he closes his eyes. Gwen talks to him, speaks so that he wouldn't forget who he's with, tells him about all the filthy things she's wanted to do with him ever since the first time she saw him, and Merlin kisses her again, touches her to silence her.

It always ends too soon.

He spells away every trace on her body before he leaves, stubble burn and the rare bruise, sweat, spit and seed, making sure there's nothing for Arthur to notice, and Gwen hates him a little for it.

~ ~ ~

It can't last, though Gwen wishes she could believe it would. She doesn't know how it's going to end; she cannot stop.

~ ~ ~

This time Gwen's first in the tiny shuttered room above a carpenter's workshop where they meet whenever Merlin's supposed to be travelling and they can't risk him being seen in the castle.

She lights the candles and hangs her cloak on a nail by the door. It's oddly domestic and Gwen finds herself humming as she undoes the fastenings on her dress. She strips the dress and the tunic from the upper part of her body, leaves them hanging on her hips while she lets down her hair.

The air is cooler than she expected and her nipples draw in and harden almost painfully fast and Gwen pauses, debating whether to put her clothes back on or to strip them all off and huddle under the blanket.

A creak of hinges, a sharply drawn breath behind her and Gwen is turning, some part of her already knowing it won't be Merlin standing behind her. Merlin would not be startled by the sight of her half-naked body.

It's Lancelot.

Lancelot, who's gaping at her. A part of her, shy little servant girl Gwen is embarrassed, another part is angry, a third one amused at this most gallant knight blatantly ogling her naked breasts, but most of her, that strong, practical core that helped her survive through the hardest of times, is already tugging her dress back on and frantically searching for a way out.

It's no use; there's already someone thumping up the stairs, and then Arthur is there, his face a pale, waxy mask. Sir Agravain enters behind him, unhurried, carefully controlled smugness visible in his eyes if not on his face. And finally, Merlin bolts in, looking as if he'd run to race the Devil.

Gwen remembers the note Same place, tucked into her prayer-book like usual, the handwriting looking a bit off with the benefit of hindsight, and how Arthur had left for an unplanned three-day hunt without saying goodbye.

Over Arthur's shoulder she can see Merlin's face, the guilt, shame and horrible, resigned misery - all the emotions she should be feeling. In a minute Arthur'll get himself together, start asking questions and Merlin believes she'll tell the truth. The whole truth.

She won't.

When it comes down to it, she won't allow Merlin and Arthur to lose each other. It would be like cutting a human being in half and expecting them to stay alive. This is the difference between her and Morgana - her former lady would do anything to get what she wants, not caring if the whole kingdom burns as a result.

Gwen isn't so far gone yet.

"I'm so sorry for the lie, Arthur," Gwen says. Her fingers reach for Lancelot's hand but her eyes seek out Merlin's. "Know that I've done everything for love."


End file.
